


Return to Draenor

by erpprincess



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 17:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erpprincess/pseuds/erpprincess
Summary: King Varian Wrynn summons a highly decorated guild to follow Garrosh into the past after he escapes Pandaria.(Follows lore until the WoD xpac)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was started prior to the release of the Warlords of Draenor expansion pack, and I chose to continue writing despite the canon story being different. It follows my own character and four of her guildmates as they're sent back in time via Varian's request.

_Stormwind - Naosu_

 

King Varian Wrynn was an imposing man. Forced to leave his home as a child, then later attacked by Onyxia causing him to lose his memory, Varian spent a good portion of his life as a gladiator for the orc Rehgar Earthfury. It was only recently that he returned as the human monarch at their capital, Stormwind.

Well, recently to me. I often forget that humans adapt much more quickly to change, due to their short lifespans.

As we entered the royal briefing room, I was surprised to see only a few of the Alliance leaders present. Varian was flanked by Velen, Prophet of the Draenei, Tyrande Wisperwind, High Priestess of Elune and ruler of the Kaldorei, and Genn Greymane, King of the recently re-opened Gilneas kingdom of the Worgen. Surely this problem warranted more attention, but before I could voice my concern the king spoke.

“Teris, Izael, fellow Sons of the Dragon. I’m sure by now you’ve all heard that Garrosh Hellscream has escaped from Xuen’s temple. We’re still not sure how he accomplished this, but that investigation is not why you’re here. He’s gone back to his homeworld and, with the aid of a renegade bronze dragon named Kairoz, he’s returned to the past. The details are outlined on these reports.” Varian nodded to one of the squires and the boy quickly handed each of us a report. Before we were even finished scanning it, Velen spoke.

“I understand that our calling upon you is nothing new, but I must impress upon you how important this mission is to all of our people; not just the Alliance, but the races of the Horde, too. By returning to the past, Garrosh could drastically change the impact the orcs have had on Azeroth for the past few decades.”

“The orcs were divided and desperate when they entered our world the first time, and still managed to scar Azeroth almost irreparably,” Tyrande added, her dislike for the green skinned outsiders apparent in the scowl spread over her elven features. “We cannot have Garrosh rallying the brutes together for a new, calculated attack from the past now that he knows details about the Alliance and our world. The consequences would be catastrophic.”

Teris, a high ranking warlock of Stormwind and the current head of our guild, frowned and laid the report he had been reading on the aged table intricately carved with a full map of Azeroth, though the southern islands of Pandaria were fairly fresh. “With all due respect your majesty, Prophet, Priestess, if this mission is as critical as you claim, why was I asked to select a small party? Our victories in the past have been thanks to the efforts of nearly a dozen of our guild members, yet a task that could potentially change the fate of Azeroth is limited to the five of us? You can understand my agitation, I’m sure.”

“Indeed, we do. I more than anyone understand the strength and power of numbers against a foe like the orcs,” Velen said sadly, glancing at me. I looked away.

“The mission isn’t to wipe out the orcs in the past. Your mission is to make sure Garrosh does not succeed in what is surely an ill-conceived plan to take all of Azeroth by force by controlling the Horde in the past. You must find a way to sway the clan chieftains’ opinions when their allegiances are most vulnerable.” I could tell the king still harbored a deep hatred for the orcs, even through his carefully maintained façade of a diplomatic leader. The way he locked eyes with our guild master made me wonder if Teris wouldn’t suddenly combust under his glare.

Jose, a don of Ravenholdt Manor, shrugged. “Easy enough. Go in, assassinate Garrosh and… the warlocky guy--”

“Gul’dan, former apprentice of Ner’zul of the Shadowmoon clan,” added Leucetius, a powerful wizard whom the Kirin Tor had been trying to recruit for years. He was a fount of knowledge, rarely forgetting anything he ever read.

“--yeah, him, the other leaders, make sure their skin isn’t green, and bam, we’re back home before dinner.”

Izael, a decorated kaldorei warrior, spoke calmly as he crossed one arm over his chest and rested the other on it, holding his chin in thought. “Jose, it’s not that simple. Certain events need to happen in the Outlands in order for other important events to happen here on Azeroth. We need to consider carefully where we can and cannot interfere.”

“Izzy, wouldn’t it be better for a million more people if we just did away with the Shadow Council before it was out of its infancy?”

“Izael’s right.”

All eyes looked my way.

“Nao,” Jose said, a little shocked. “You, of all of us, I would think would be on my side here.”

“No, Jose. What happened on Draenor cannot… should not be changed. While I still mourn for the many lives lost, without the events of the past, my people would not have found the strength of a new home on Azeroth. We would not have been able to defeat Archimonde without the aid of the humans and kaldorei in Hyjal, and the Earthen Ring would not have had the draenei shaman to help heal the broken world after Deathwing’s rampage. As difficult as the past has been, there is reason and meaning behind the events. Garrosh plans to mold history to his own end. We must not be tempted to do the same.”

“Well spoken, Naosu. The wisdom of the draenei never ceases to amaze me,” Genn said, smiling. “Many times I wished for my own people’s past to be different, but then we would not have been able to aid the Alliance as we can now. We, too, have found strength in the Alliance, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

“How do we proceed? Do we know where Garrosh is?  Do we know _when_?” Regardless of the assignment, Teris was ever the calculating one, gathering all the information he could before committing the guild to action.

While Teris spoke to Varian and the other leaders, the other members of our group intently absorbing everything they could about Draenor at this point in history, I leaned against the far wall of the war chamber and closed my eyes in an attempt to block out the flood of memories this mission would undoubtedly release. It wasn’t history to me. It was memories.

A gentle hand touched my shoulder, waking me from my painful reverie. It was a familiar presence.

“Prophet.”

“Naosu, I realize this mission will be difficult for you.”

  
“Difficult doesn’t even begin to break the surface.”

He sighed. “It was I who convinced Wrynn and the others to choose your guild for this, and I requested your participation specifically. I need you there.”

“Why me?  Any other draenei knows our history just as well. Some of them even lived it. Any of them could go in my stead.”

“You’re right. There are dozens of other draenei who could carry out this task.”

I glared at him, part angry, but mostly confused. “Then… why?”

“Because I trust none of them more than I trust you. You became a warrior when our people needed protection and order. You were a Vindicator of the highest rank and then Nobundo’s first apprentice when we looked to shamanism. You were instrumental at nearly every stage of our people’s history since we fled Argus, and not once did you falter in your duty.”

“I can’t… I don’t want to go back. Velen, I don’t have the faith or resolve you do. I don’t know if I can endure Draenor again.”

“You are free to decline, of course, as are your guild mates. If my council does not convince you, then I urge you to seek that which might. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, yes? He misses you.”

Velen was right; it had been nearly a year since I had been back to the Exodar. The campaign in Pandaria had kept many of us from our homes for longer than usual, and while we had the ability to move quickly between continents with portals, it was usually limited to resupplying. I realized, somewhat sadly, that I hadn’t even been home since Garrosh was dethroned. I had returned to Stormwind with the other Dragons.

“You’re right. I think it’s time I paid a visit to my old mentor. I’m sure he’ll want to hear all about the unique way the Pandaren embrace shamanism.” I tried my best to smile, and turned to rejoin Teris and the others at the table.

Before I took a step, the prophet caught my arm. “Should you agree to this task, there is one condition I must voice.” I looked back at him, raising my eyebrows, questioningly. “Above all else, Durotan and Draka must live.”

Durotan.

I shrugged off his hand and stood for a second staring at the floor, the name sinking in. Even more than Garrosh, even more than Thrall, I remembered Durotan. Though I had never met the Frostwolf chieftain and had only seen the orc once, I would not forget his face for as long as I took breath.

_Durotan and Draka must live._


	2. Memories

_ Tanaan Jungle - Naosu _

 

Draenor.

Exiles’ Refuge.

The most important person in my life had been taken from me here.

The years following his death had been the hardest of my entire life. With all the rage in my heart, the Light no longer answered me. I felt helpless, confused, and angry at myself for not defending Telmor and for my weakness in Shattrath. I tried to take my life twice before Velen found me. He reunited me with Nobundo, and I discovered what happened to those who became krokul. Seeing Nobundo again was both joyous and painful.  I once again had hope, but that hope was drastically different. That was when I became a shaman.

It really hasn’t been that long since I visited the broken world. After the war against the orcs, we used the Exodar one last time to flee to Azeroth. After years of studying the shamanistic path and training with the elements, I returned to Draenor prepared to combat new foes alongside other members of the Alliance. When those threats were neutralized, I returned to Azeroth. 

I haven’t been back since.

It was now a few decades after our flight from Draenor, and half that since I was last here, but this time it’s different. After Garrosh was removed as Warchief of the Horde, he was put on trial by the August Celestials. As the trial progressed, those still loyal to Garrosh orchestrated his escape. Thanks to the renegade bronze dragon Kairoz and his manipulation of the Vision of Time, he was able to travel back to when Talgath first found us on this world, giving Garrosh the potential to rewrite nearly fifty years of history to his choosing.

That’s why we’re here. We thwarted Garrosh’s plans once. We’ll do it again.

That doesn’t keep the memories at bay, though. 

I was the first of my group through the portal the Kirin Tor mages had created using the ley lines connected to the anomaly. I had lived on Draenor for nearly three hundred years prior to the orc war, so I was selected to guide our party. 

Tall trees were crowded together with branches and vines creating a canopy of leaves and flowers above us. The ground had a thick layer of moss, giving the area a somewhat fresh, rain-like smell. It was dusk, and the sun was setting quickly. I could hear Izael whistle in awe. 

“So this is what the Outlands used to look like?” he asked, taking in the landscape. “Where are we, Naosu?”

“Tanaan Jungle. Known in present day as Hellfire Peninsula,” I responded, stepping carefully over a fallen tree limb. 

“No way… THIS is Hellfire?”

“You saw what happened to the Black Morass on Azeroth,” I answered.  “The energy of the Dark Portal corrupts the land upon which it sits. Few things can survive, and those that do eventually become corrupted, like the felboar. The portal hasn’t been built yet, but...”I paused and looked up through a hole in the canopy where I could see the first stars breaking through the evening sky. “...we’re roughly a two hour ride from the future site.”

In the past, the land was lush and verdant. The Dark Portal sat on the eastern edge of what is now known as Hellfire Peninsula - an arid, desolate place of oppressing heat and fel-tainted creatures where nothing grew save for massive labyrinths of thorns embedded into rocky hills. It was through this portal that the orcs came to Azeroth, and is the only permanent bridge between the two worlds. 

Our destination was Karabor, a place burned into my memory by pain and regret. We would not reach it tonight. It was at least a week’s travel through the jungle, then through the Talador and Shadowmoon Valley to its eastern edge. We had to be careful, though; this was all orc land now. They might recognize a draenei and continue the mutual indifference towards my people, but they might mistake a human or night elf for some sort of mutated ogre, and orcs and ogres did not exactly see eye to eye. Plus, there were the gronn, much more populous and territorial now than in the future. While my group could probably handle one without much trouble, a fight would draw a great deal of unwanted attention.

We made our way west through the jungle for a few hours until we reached a small clearing between the hills that would someday be Honor Hold and the glistening water-filled ravine that would house the orcish Hellfire Citadel. We decided to camp and discuss the details of our plan. We had already been over it a hundred times, but I suppose one can never be too cautious when dealing with timelines. I tried my best to focus, but I couldn’t help thinking about Telmor. 

When Draenor was shattered by the energy of the Dark Portal, the land upon which Telmor stood crumbled into the Nether, taking the fallen heroes with it. There was a ceremony, of course, but many found it hard to move on without the closure of proper burial, myself included.  For years I imagined he would walk through my door, safe and sound with a story from his day with the new recruits. I remember his sapphire skin, still young and vibrant, and his mossy hair unruly after a day’s worth of combat training. The way his armor seemed a part of him to everyone else - he was rarely out of it - but I had known him at his most vulnerable. Often times at night I would trace the scar along his collarbone as he lay beside me. Despite his reassurances, I always felt guilty about that mark. Were he not trying to protect me, he wouldn’t have--

“Nao?” It was Jose, looking at me with concern. “Do you know how far we are from the temple?”

I looked around the campfire and realized I had been daydreaming. The others had finished their meals while mine was still untouched. I looked at the stars again, remembering when he would take me to the Temple of Karabor and we would lie in the gardens, watching the stars. He taught me constellations and how to read them to determine distance and direction. He taught me so much, and I returned so little.

“Eight days, ten at most. We shouldn’t have much trouble with orcs in the jungle, but once we reach Talador, we’ll have to tread more carefully. Luckily, the clans that live along our route are not the most aggressive. If my memory serves me, the only clans we might encounter are the Thunderlord Clan and some outlying Frostwolves. These clans are mostly gatherers, with only warp stalkers and the occasional stray clefthoof to hunt.” 

“We better get some sleep,” said Izael. “I’ll take first watch, then Leucetius, then Jose. We’ll start again at sunrise.” He nodded to us, picked up his twin greatswords and left the camp to find a more ideal place to keep watch. 

I unpacked my bedroll near one of the many tree roots whose fallen leaves provided a little padding. I could see Teris not far off, sitting cross-legged by a lantern studying one of his tomes and making occasional notes. Leucetius was already snoring, using his own spellbook as a pillow.

As I lay watching the stars through the gentle sway of the jungle canopy, my thoughts were of him. In this time, he was alive. What was he doing at this moment in Telmor?

 

_ I woke to sunlight shining on my face. I could hear birdsongs as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Pushing back the covers, I lazily swung my legs over the edge of the bed and pulled on my dressing robe as I stood. I stepped over to the two armor stands against the far wall and absently ran my hand over the polished, silver and blue helmet. I could smell clefthoof bacon cooking and could hear someone whistling a song I hadn’t heard in--  _

_ Realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. _

_ I know this place.   This is my home.  _

_ I turned so quickly I nearly tripped over the sheathed longsword and crystalline shield lying at the base of the stands. I dashed to the door of our bedroom, my heart racing and my knees shaking like a surrounded talbuk. I turned the handle down and pushed the creaking door open… _

 

I woke with a start, sitting up and glancing around. I was back in the jungle, and the sun was just starting to rise.  I decided to take a walk to calm my heart back to a normal pace. Jose should be somewhere close, though I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find a rogue in a jungle. 

It was humid under the canopy, but this early in the morning a chill still prevailed. I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders and stepped carefully through the undergrowth. I remembered my amazement and subsequent regret at not being able to study the flora on Draenor. It had been so long since I gave up science in favor of defending my people, but it was a choice I never regretted. I was still able to use my knowledge to aid botanists and farmers from time to time.

Before I knew it, I was standing on the edge of the Tanaan ravine, listening to the water lap against the rocky edge and watching the free-hanging vines sway with the waves. The sparkling surface was still a foot or so down, so I sat and dangled my hooves in, feeling the gentle force of the current against my ankles. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my legs, cradling my head in my hands as my thoughts returned to my dream. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamt of my past, but this time was so much more vivid, so much more real. I had forgotten the feel of his smooth, adamantine helmet, and I could still smell the aroma of clefthoof bacon, a dish I hadn’t eaten in decades.

I sighed heavily into the wind. Was it simply being on Draenor that triggered these hidden pieces of my memory? I didn’t have such dreams when I was here fighting against the Illidari forces at the Black Temple, or even on the naaru ship forcibly seized by the sin’dorei to house their master, Kael’thas. I thought I had sealed away my grief, but here I was, hoping beyond hope that something might be different this time.  

“Dear spirits, how will I face him after all these years,” I asked the morning air. “How can I see him and not warn him of his fate?”


	3. Prey

_ Tanaan Jungle - Rul’tar _

 

Along with the cloven hoof prints of the female blue-skin, there were other sets of tracks that were unfamiliar. Somewhat of an oval shape, they were surprisingly orcish-looking, but much smaller. Had the enemy captured orc children? No, the tracks were too narrow. What sort of creature made these, then?

I sniffed the foliage around the trail of alien prints. Draenei, of course. Their smell was unmistakable. Two similar - no, maybe three - and another, altogether different. Draenei rarely went anywhere alone, being the cowards they are, so a group of four or five was expected; however, I could only find evidence of one.

I followed the trail for a time, eventually confirming a total of five travelers from the imprints on one of their abandoned campsites. Most of the time the tracks only included four people, so I assumed one of the mystery people was adept at stealth, like me. Draenei were too arrogant to see the benefit of moving in the shadows. Their flashy armor and bright, sky-colored skin made them obnoxiously easy to spot in the forest full of natural brown and green plants. Even so, I knew better than to underestimate them. While stealth may not be their strong point, their warriors were fierce and their magic was unlike anything our shaman or subsequent warlocks could do. Gul’dan liked to think they were passive and weak - a hurdle on his road to glory in the Great One’s eyes.  I am a warrior.  I know better.

The Frostwolves, led by Durotan, son of Garad, and Draka, daughter of Zuura, were commanded to attack the draenei city hidden within ogre territory.  It was a test. Durotan was widely known to be in disagreement with our leader’s decisions. Although the clan's ancestral lands were farther to the northwest, they would make the journey and meet others from the southern clans along the way. I was sent to make sure they did not shirk their duty to the new orcish horde. This would be the first open attack on a city; until this, we killed draenei hunting and gathering parties, or had the good fortune of coming across travelers and traders on the roads. Lately, though, the blue-skins have increased the size of their hunting parties, and those who were not fighters now had escorts when moving from city to city. That this draenei was alone made my blood quicken.

The night was rapidly approaching. The White Lady was already taking her place in the sky, so I decided to make camp. The tracks I had been following had gotten noticeably fresher - I would be upon the woman and whatever sort of creatures she had with her by mid-day tomorrow.

I unhooked the hatchet from my belt and began clearing the saplings from the spot I had chosen, saving the infant trees to start a fire. In the dense wood of the Thunderlord territory, there were few large animals, but plenty of smaller game. I didn’t have the need or desire to carry the extra meat a talbuk or clefthoof would supply anyway. I secreted my pack among some brush and left to find a suitable meal. 

It didn't take long. The White Lady was shining brightly in the clear night sky, granting me better than average vision. I came across the tracks of a young talbuk, a doe, from the shape of the prints, and fairly fresh. I followed them a short while before I heard her bleating. She must have been separated from the herd. 

Truly the ancestors were smiling upon me.

I slowly, quietly, drew my bow and nocked an arrow. A few minutes later, I saw the doe rustling through the underbrush. The perfect shot.

The wind shifted. The talbuk turned and, obviously having smelled orc, took off through the woods. I barely even noticed. I had also caught a scent. There was only a slight breeze, but it was the unmistakable scent of a campfire. The draenei was tantalizingly close. 

Returning the arrow to my quiver and securing the bow, I followed the wind towards where I calculated their camp would be. I was somewhat familiar with these woods, and knew a few clearings around large enough for her and whatever creatures she was traveling with. If I could get closer, I could discover more about the strange companions. Killing a lone draenei was no problem for an orc, but only a fool rushed into battle against unknown enemies. I could barely contain my excitement. Not only had it been chance that I came upon her trail, but to discover that she was without escort was surely a gift from the ancestors. I could almost taste the metallic sweetness of draenei blood.


End file.
